


Alone Time

by tatamos



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Lust, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatamos/pseuds/tatamos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't handle the image of Sherlock sucking on his pipe, so he steps away to have some alone time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Time

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction.
> 
> Follow tatamoswrites.tumblr.com  
> Follow tatamos.tumblr.com  
> Follow gaybooks.tumblr.com

So it’s come to this again, huh, Watson?

You’re leaning against your bedroom door after abruptly excusing yourself from the sitting room. It was that damned pipe and those damned lips wrapped around it. You palm yourself through your trousers, silently cursing for being half erect at the mental image alone.

The smell of Holmes’s arcadia mixture pipe tobacco seeps up through the floorboards, pushing your fantasy further, and you finally get your trousers around your knees. Smearing a bead of pre-cum around the tip of your cock, you allow yourself to fall headfirst into your own imagination. The smell of the tobacco helps you to picture Holmes in the room with you. On his knees. Looking up at you. Lips curled into a smirk.

You imagine yourself guiding the tip to his lips. He wouldn’t let you get off easily, he’d tease you, make you wait. Your brain supplies the image of those lips kissing their way along your shaft. You choke down a moan as you stroke yourself. He’d analyze all of your responses and tailor his cocksucking specifically for you, wouldn’t he? He’d learn how depth doesn’t matter to you as long as there’s a lot of tongue. He’d learn that a hand on your balls could push you over the edge within minutes.

In your mind, you tangle a hand into his glued down hair, getting Macassar oil all over your fingers. Would he like you tugging on his hair? Would he want eye contact? Would he moan around your leaking cock as you struggled to keep your hips still?

You’re getting closer, and in your mind you yank him away by his hair, aiming the tip of your cock at his lips. You’re stroking faster now, twisting your hand a bit when you reach the head.

“Watson,” you imagine those perfect lips calling your name.

“Watson,” he looks into your eyes and you’re right on the edge.

“Watson,” that’s it. You shudder through your release, ejaculate splattering onto the hardwood floor.

“Dammit Watson!” A hand pounds on the door right behind your head, jerking you out of your afterglow. “We have to leave at once, so if you’re quite finished!”

“Can’t a man get any alone time in his own bloody apartment, Holmes?” you mutter, yanking your pants back up and retying them. 

He doesn’t respond and you can hear him trotting back down the stairs. When you finally emerge from your room after hastily cleaning up the mess on the floor, you decide not to further push the issue and risk being exposed. Those thoughts can be left to your alone time.


End file.
